


Accolades

by Pyrasaur



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Celebrity Crush, F/M, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, D.Va's fans are really cool people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accolades

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kinkmeme prompt: _Unbeknownst to many, Roadhog is a huge fan of D.VA and goes all out with body worship/affection during sex._
> 
> One of the buttons on Roadhog's in-game model is the Polycount mascot. That's my entire basis for depicting Roadhog as a former gamer/programmer.

     The other team members said he was hard to read with that gas mask on — which was weak sauce in D.Va’s opinion. Spend a few thousand hours in voice chats and Skype calls and you learn what to listen for in a person. Roadhog's gas mask was his real-life avatar, that was all, and what D.Va began to notice was that the guy bothered to say a passing hello to her sometimes — in an ever-so-slighty taut tone. Like he was nervous. 

     Imagine a freaknormous brick house like him being nervous of Hana, little cute Hana who still shops for T-shirts in the Juniors section sometimes. The thought put a grin in D.Va's heart. Which pushed her to take a chance and chat Roadhog up when she was wedged beside him on a transport flight — and that was how she found out that he used to play video games. Even took a crack at programming a game of his own.  
     That was a long time ago, he added, in that _in another lifetime_ tone like he was trying not to miss it too hard. Old guys around here did that a lot.  
     Obviously, the decent thing to do was drag him back into gaming. So D.Va invited him to drop by her room and get wrecked in a friendly PvP match of something light and newb-friendly. Mario Party 47, maybe?  
     Roadhog stared at her through glassy eyeholes. And then, with a shake of his head, he laughed. Not the creepy serial killer laugh he always did in the field but a low chortle rattling around inside the mask filters, quiet enough to be real.  
     Sure, he told her. Why the hell not.  
     Chalk up another win for D.Va! Well, okay, it wasn't like an achievement or anything: she had just met somebody who seemed kinda cool.

     It turned out that Roadhog didn't like Mario Party — but seriously, did _anyone_ like Mario Party? Way too casual. In the game nights to come, Hog turned out to be more of an FPS guy, and a great tank in any MMO D.Va threw at him: he ought to have had a handcam because his huge, rough-knuckled hands worked the keys with safecracker precision. She watched whenever she had a half-second to spare. Man, if Hog wasn’t so rusty, D.Va might have a run for her money. She _didn’t_ , of course, but …  
     Well, anyway. He was good. Picked up the newer MMOs quickly, like he had brushed up on the mechanics beforehand. Maybe watched a few gameplay videos. Last D.Va heard, a solid Internet connection was the least of Australia’s worries but whatever, she wasn’t going to look her gift Hog in the mouth.

     Hog even tried to recruit Junkrat into the virtual raiding party. It didn’t work: Junkrat tried out a fire mage character for half an hour, but the fact that attacks had cooldown times seemed to make his brain itch and his fingers fidget more than usual.  
     He’d be making _real_ explosions if anyone needed him, Junkrat called as he left.  
     Don’t get killed, Roadhog replied, tapping the special key to eviscerate an orc.  
     D.Va smirked at her own screen, and told Hog he was a top-tier bodyguard.  
     Bet he could keep _her_ alive just fine, he rumbled. Want to try that Deathwalker Dungeon campaign again?  
     Oh, he knew it.

     Deathwalker was a beast of a level. Honestly, D.Va was convinced that the next patch was going to nerf it, but until then she might as well try to take it down and get herself some bragging rights. With a party made up of mostly random scrubs, though, it was easier said than done, even with Hog who was a great tank but still only one player.  
     After the third blood-coloured Game Over screen, D.Va flopped back in her chair, dumping the last of a soda down her throat. Maybe, she wondered out loud, they’d have better luck with a light mage? Buff Hog’s character more, maybe get a Petrify off, then just avoid getting creamed until the boss died?  
     Roadhog grumbled a negative. That wouldn’t deal enough damage, he said, and she’d go nuts trying to just run around dodging for that long.      Let him switch to his alt account. Save D.Va from being the headless chicken in a priest robe.  
     Funny, but D.Va recognised that particular turn of phrase. She said it herself in one of last week’s mission livestreams. Slowly, broadly, she grinned: she really wanted to ask how he _knew_ that — but she was a smart girl. She could figure it out.  
     So she just thanked Hog with a loud _oh my god_ and an ironic marriage proposal. His idea would make better use of the loot drops, anyway. 

     By the time she cracked open a cherry-lime energy drink, she noticed Hog’s silence. 

     It was a weird silence and she couldn’t figure out why. Stay cool, girl. Joke it off. She added that they didn't actually have to get married — they could just make out. If he wanted.  
     Roadhog was still silent, facing the login screen. Screenlight glared off the thick curves of his jacked shoulders, and made his already white ponytail seem to glow.  
     Shouldn't tease an old man like that, he growled.  
     He _never_ growled at her— but D.Va knew defensiveness when she heard it, and she grinned inside and out. Imagine a brick house badass like him being fond of the Hana he followed online, maybe the gamer or the streamer, maybe the one who posted selfies whenever she was in a good mood. Imagine little cute Hana just standing there, immune to his scary outlaw schtick, and wrapping all of his height and heft around her little finger.  
     Crossing the linoleum on bare feet, the she had to wonder if it this was going to be weird. But she was D.Va. She feared nothing except power outages and it wasn't like this was her _first_ time taking initiative with somebody. Only her second. Still counted. She padded to stand by his left shoulder— which was bare, Hog was practically allergic to shirts — and she perched her chin on him and said in a smirk-edged voice, t’s not teasing if she follows through, right?

     Hog hesitated long enough to make her nervous _and_ flattered.

     He was seriously huge — not that that was news, but a shivery thrill ran through her as one of his meaty hands wrapped her ribcage, black nail polish vanishing from her line of sight, his fingertips finding the raised buttons of her spine and settling on them like WASD keys as he shoved his mask up partway — and suddenly there were lips and tongue and a graze of _teeth_ at her neck and D.Va couldn’t help the sound she made.  
     Love the enthusiasm, she said.  
     He just hummed, a damp rumbling like thunder against her throat.  
     Not a man of words, that was for sure. She closed her eyes, threw her arms as far around his neck as they’d go, and drank it all in: the dizzying crush of the moment; the _actual_ crush of his arms; his sweat-and-motor-oil smell. She was beginning to forget how her legs worked and somewhere beyond this, Hog’s chair creaked with every shift he made.  
     Hey, she said, poking his gut. C’mon, take this somewhere more comfortable. Like bed.  
     Hog paused, mouth thinning against her skin. She sure?  
     Sure, she was sure. Hog was probably at least twice her age and he regularly _killed_ guys with the giant meathooks currently slipping under her tank top. But age and all that murderer stuff seemed like some vague rumour, or some line of garbage code, because Roadhog was her teammate and raid buddy and even her _fan_ , and D.Va couldn’t tone down her grin right now if she tried. 

     Especially not once Hog stood and picked her up, gently like she was made of papercraft, and spread her out on her own bed. He knelt on the end of that bed so the frame groaned with his weight, to lay his lips —wide islander lips, said the glimpse she caught — on her collarbone while sliding both devouring hands up under the band of her bra.  
     He wasn’t a gentle person, Hog muttered like a confession.  
     D.Va snorted, tracing a lazy fingernail around his mask’s glass eyes. Could have fooled her, she said.  
     He simmered with silence. His tongue flicked over his lower lip. But didn’t end up spitting any more dark secrets — just pulling at her, prompting her to lift her arms while Hog yanked off her top and bra. 

     Now the only thing covering her up was the contact with his iron chest and soft belly, and the span of those strong, raspy-knuckled hands cradling the curve of her back. Wet mouth circled her breasts, with just enough teeth for spice, and as D.Va watched through her fanned lashes as Hog left a pink, splotchy trail down her chest. Not future bruises — just places she had been tasted, spots he had paid attention to.  
     After she watched a bit longer, as Roadhog reached her stomach and clutched her closer to his face, D.Va found the right word for this: reverent. She had never considered herself a temple before but Hog was kneeling mountainous over her with his chin buried in her navel and it looked like praying. Her ego was a hot burn in her chest and when the wet heat of his mouth hit her navel and wormed deep, she bucked against his grip.  
     Mmmm, she groaned, yeah, Hog. Hey, was it weird to call him Hog right now? Maybe his real name …?  
     No, he said flatly.  
     That’s cool, she wheezed. D.Va got it: names were just names. But she couldn’t resist prodding him, couldn’t deny herself the indulgence — and she purred that he’d probably want to call her D.Va anyway, huh? Had he thought about doing this to her? Maybe heard her voice through earbuds and imagined going to town on her?  
     Then she was squeaking in his tightening grip, squirming against the delicious suction returned to her neck, digging her nails into his sweat-slick shoulders. The suction broke and his breath washed hot over her ear.  
     He, Roadhog rumbled, was her _biggest_ fan. His heartbeat drummed under his skin and there was his denim-covered bulge warm against D.Va’s thigh, holy crap.

     She wasn’t used to being speechless, or being this _thirsty_ , or being shifted around like she was as light as a bag of marshmallows but she could certainly get used to that last one. Hog’s talented fingers worked open the tiny buttons of her shorts and he yanked those and her underwear away and tossed them aside. Didn’t even look at how cute her underwear were: he just shifted back so the bed frame complained, and bent his worshipping mouth to the inside of her knee.  
     It tickled, but she barely had time to flinch before he was moving up her thigh, sucking a pink trail upward. The gas mask was slipping: there was wavy white hair from a sideburn maybe, and an ink-dark eye, and D.Va reached to push the mask farther but Hog swatted her fingers away and dragged his avatar back over to shade his real face.  
     And he called _her_ a tease, D.Va pouted?  
     A deep _humph_ gusted over her thigh, tantalizingly close to her pussy. She had to stop pushing her luck if she wanted to get any. Or maybe Hog would just keep letting her get away with it, D.Va wondered while propping up onto her elbows and being good — just biting her lip and keening a bit as her biggest fan licked the crease where her leg met her hip. Looking good. Almost there.  
     D.Va nearly screamed when he shifted upward again, back to pray at her stomach. But then came touch like a thunderbolt, one huge fingertip against her slick creases and yeah, _that_ was a good use for gaming hands.  
     Hog, she hissed while he drew ragged circles, come on, knock off the tutorial level. Imagining those huge meaty fingers disappearing into her was too much and _his_ breathing was sounding pretty rough, too.  
     He grumbled again, open-mouthed, licking from rib bone up the slope of her breast. And in came his finger, thick and blunt and curling up into her, a wet splitting that parted D.Va’s lips and wrenched a cry from her. That was just one finger, just _one_ , and she clung to Hog’s neck as he took her breast into his mouth and slid just as slowly outward, tingling with friction.

     Dude, she panted, just — hold on a second. She scrambled up and free of him on wobbly baby deer legs, and she rummaged in her nightstand drawer full of charge cables and candy wrappers until her hand closed around a third of a bottle of unflavoured lube. It was for treating herself: this was going to be a treat, alright.  
     Grinning so much was starting to hurt as D.Va placed herself back under Hog, locked eyes with his glass ones and parted her own legs. Geez, she hoped he could _see_ from under there or else this private show for her current favourite fan was going to go to waste.  
     But he seemed riveted enough as D.Va drizzled lube onto herself, swirled her middle finger through the slick and sank it inside. One slender finger that was nothing like his. Then she grabbed Hog’s shoulders, laid back, and tugged until he followed.  
     Much better. _Much_ better, this time as he breathed heavy against her throat and his finger glided in right up to the knuckle. Hog’s mask was close enough that she caught a whiff of rubber, and she was electrified and too big for her skin as she arched underneath him, listened to her own wet squelch, grasped at his neck but his hair was tied up and there were only soggy wisps for her to wind between her fingers.  
     Mmmm, Hog purred in a voice that gripped her soul. _Pretty_.  
     If only she could _see_ him looking at her, following her, admiring but she didn’t need to see him, not when his voice told the story. She keened answer, writhing to find the right angle but Hog was searching, too, and his free hand engulfed her hip, pinning her and delving in hard and steady, his palm slapping against her clit. She was saying something that was mostly his name and partly _begging_ but she didn’t care, just scrabbled and clawed until his weight pressed down on her, pinned her like a bug. Hog’s mouth latched onto her neck, back where it belonged and she was rising, cresting, shaking under him and gripping on tight inside and out.

     She was gasping open-mouthed when it was over. Just lying there boneless like she was on the best The End screen of all time, noting Hog’s black-tipped fingers brushing hair out of her face.  
     Ugh, she told him, he was sweet.  
     Silence, and a quirk of a frown under the pulled-up mask. Guess the fearsome Roadhog didn’t get told that very often.  
     Don’t worry, D.Va chirped, hauling herself up onto elbows — she wouldn’t tell anyone. But hey, she wasn’t a griefer in bed. His turn. Come on, whip it out.  
     After a long instant of staring at her, Hog shimmied out of his overalls. The dick that _leaped_ out was like those 64-ounce steaks people horfed down in eating contests: mouth-watering but completely insane.  
     D.Va chewed her lip. She considered the lube smeared down her thighs and the humming heat in between them, and the lube still left in the bottle, and she took another long look at that epic cock.  
     Bet they could figure something out, D.Va decided. Come on, Hog, roll over. 

     His chuckle told her everything she needed to know.


End file.
